#bloody roses novel
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Diabolik lovers Bloody Roses Novel [ prologue ]
Prologue
A sad legend was told in a small village called Roseland. This legend tells the memories of a girl in love who fell from a high cliff. The young girl survived but could never remember her memories. She forgot her lover and started a new life. Legends say that the girl's lover looked at her every day and picked a rose in his memory and put it in the window of his room.
These roses represented his sweet memories with his beautiful and kind lover. But the girl forgot him and could never remember her old and bright love. With the passing of time, her lover died, but the roses that he had planted in his memory remained on the windowsill of his room. No one may remember the name of the dried roses, but his love for that girl became a legend. A legend that named this small village in memory of the roses picked on the way to an unrequited love in the village of Roseland.
Centuries passed, but this legend was always told in the village of Roseland so that people remember that in the way of kindness and love, even if you don't reach your lover, always with a bit of love like a rose, your memories will be eternal forever.
Outside this village was a big castle where six royal heirs lived. King Karlheinz had driven his sons out of the capital to make them independent and teach them a great lesson.
The castle of the crown princes was outside the village and none of the people of the village had the courage to approach it. The villagers had heard that the crown princes were very dangerous. They consider themselves to be aristocrats and do anything and never feel guilty. Every girl who came near that castle disappeared and has never been found.
The castle of the crown princes was very infamous in the city and all the villagers were afraid of it. The church believed that demons resided in that castle. For this reason, it was forbidden to approach that fort, and no one was allowed to approach that fort, otherwise they would be charged with a great sin and they would be known as criminals and sinners in the village.
The people of the village lived a peaceful life and worked hard in their fields so that they could live a hard life with the heavy taxes of the king. Everything in the village was peaceful and fine until one day a sad day came. The same day the rose fell into the trap and withered.
A 15-year-old and very beautiful girl lived in this village, whom the people nicknamed her White Rose. She was a pure and beautiful girl who was amazed by her beauty. This girl's name was Yui and she lived with her father Seiji in a very small hut. Seiji was a hunter and used to hunt animals to support himself and his daughter. He was often out hunting and Yui didn't spend much time with him.
The city library was a safe and relaxing haven for Yui. Where she would imprison her watch and travel to her imaginary world by reading. This work of Yui often made the village girls dislike her because they considered Yui to be a naive and simple girl who lives in her own dreams.
On one of the most beautiful autumn days, while the wind was blowing very strongly, Yui threw the warm scarf that the kind old woman of the village had woven for her on her shoulders.
The old woman of the village was the oldest person in this village and she had known her since Yui was born. The old woman remembers very well that Yui was a weak and abandoned girl in the forest whom Seiji rescued and took her in, and from that day on, he introduced Yui as his own daughter. That old woman loved Yui with all her heart and visited her every day.
While throwing the scarf over her shoulders, Yui put on her leather boots and took her leather bag and came out of the hut. As usual, when she is alone, she goes to the library to immerse herself in her fantasy world.
Before walking away from the hut, Yui went to the back of the hut to pet her father's guard dog. She had a strong interest in animals and talked to farm animals more than she talked to girls in her own age.
*woof woof*
Hearing the voice of the guard dog, Yui moved closer to him and reached out to pet him. While caressing him with her delicate hands, she smiled softly and the guard dog was drowned in her kindness.
*woof woof*
Yui: Fufu.... good morning Piku.... how are you? Did you sleep good last night?
*woof woof*
Yui: Hmmm... I think you are hungry. Wait, I'll give you a delicious meal.
Yui opened her leather bag and took out a small sandwich. She made this sandwich for herself to eat in the village library when she is studying and not be hungry. She cut the sandwich in half and held one half close to the dog's mouth to encourage him to eat it.
Yui: Be quick Piku.... Fufu.... Come eat it.
While sniffing Yui's hand, Piku approached her slowly and took the sandwich from her and started eating. While eating the sandwich Yui was staring at him with a soft smile and Piku licked Yui's hand and Yui giggled. Piku usually does this to thank her.
Yui, who was sure that Piku was no longer hungry, got up and picked up her bag to go to the library.
Yui walks slowly on the dirt roads of the village on the way to the library. The autumn wind was blowing and the leaves were coming off the trees. A few leaves fell on Yui's golden hair and Yui smiled brightly while looking at the sky.
Yui continued on her way until she saw the village girls gathered together as usual, talking about colorful clothes and braiding each other's hair. Yui never wanted to join them because the village girls teased her for her interest in books. And she always ignored them.
When she passed by the girls of the village, she hugged her bag tightly, fearing that they would steal her bag like the previous days and harass her. Yui could feel their serious look and grin while passing and that they started to chatter when they saw Yui. Yui was sure that they were making fun of het, but without paying attention to them, she walked away from them and continued on her way to the library.
Yui continued on her way until a soft voice caught her attention. She knew this voice well. The voice that always brought a smile to her face.
???: Yui my dear girl.... is that you?
Hearing the sweet voice of the old lady of the village, Yui smiled softly and looked behind her and saw the most lovely person in the village. An old woman with braided white hair stood a few steps behind her, walking with the help of a wooden cane, and always had a soft smile on her face. This smile always gave Yui energy and made her happy.
Yui: Good morning Hina-san.
Yui slowly walked up to the old woman and hugged her. This was a habit that Yui always did after seeing her. The love that this old woman had for Yui was unparalleled.
Hina: Yui my dear. I am very happy to see you. Where were you going?
Yui: I was going to the library.
Hina: Hehehe.... Just like always, you are going to your dream haven.
Yui blushed hearing Hina's words. Old Hina knew her well and knew that the library was a place where Yui would hide from the world to be in her own fantasy world and she always admired this quality of Yui.
Hina: Yui, my dear, didn't anyone bother you today?
Hina knew about the cruelty of the village girls towards Yui and she never wanted anyone to hurt her.
Yui: Don't worry, Hina-san. I am fine. Today, after I finish my work in the library, I will go to the forest to collect some firewood. Since autumn has arrived, the weather has become very cold and we need to collect and store more firewood as soon as possible.
Hina gave Yui a sweet smile. She caressed her cheek with her old hands and kissed her forehead. Yui's cheeks were cold and reddened from the cold when the old woman transferred the warmth of her heart to her by caressing her.
Hina: Yui, my beautiful flower... Be careful not to go near the castle of the crown princes. It is very dangerous there and no one knows what will happen to the girls who go near there. I can never see my beautiful and pure flower wither, so take care of yourself.
Yui smiled warmly and took the old woman's hand in hers and gently caressed and kissed it.
Yui: Hina-san, don't worry at all. I will take care of myself, I promise you.
Saying this, Yui placed a kiss on Hina's forehead and said goodbye to her and went to the library. The library was usually empty because none of the villagers were as interested in reading as Yui was, except for a young man named Peter who worked in the library.
Yui opened the library door and caused the bell hanging above the door to ring and Peter noticed Yui's presence in the library.
*ding ding*
Yui: Good morning, Peter-san.
Peter, who was cleaning the books at the top of the ladder, smiled when he heard Yui's voice and went down the ladder and went to Yui.
Peter: Hello Yui. As usual, I knew it was you. No one comes to this library except you.
Yui: I'm sorry, Peter-san. If I could, I would definitely do something so that more people would come to your library and read books.
Peter: It's okay Yui. As long as you are here, I don't need anyone else. You are the only one who keeps the light and warmth of my little library alive.
Yui smiled at Peter and opened her bag and took out a very old book with almost torn cover and presented it to Peter.
Yui: Thank you very much, Peter-san, for lending me this book. I really enjoyed reading it, it was really amazing.
Peter took the book from Yui and put it on one of the shelves while Yui looked around to find a new book.
Peter: What are you doing?
Yui: Ummm... I wanted to read a new book, but...
Peter: Hahaha... let me guess. But you have read all the books here and there is no book left that you want to read.
Hearing Peter's words, she blushed. She tried to look more and more carefully to maybe find a new book but apparently to no avail. Yui had already read all the books and there was no book left that Yui had not read.
Yui: What should I do now?
Peter: Don't worry Yui. I will go to the city next week. I promise to bring you new books. Until next week, I will give you something very special to read. Follow me.
Peter took Yui's hand and led her behind the shelves. A place that was almost hidden from others. There was a secret shelf, which Peter opened with a key he took out of his pocket and took out a very old book, the cover of which was covered with dirt. Peter brushed away the dirt on the book causing Yui to cough.
Yui: *Cough* *cough*.... Peter-san...what kind of book is this?
Peter: This is an exclusive book with a true story behind it. You must have heard the legend of bloody roses that is told in the village. This book is the diary of the man who narrated the legend of bloody roses to him.
Yui: .....! Does this mean that this legend is true?
Peter: Of course it was real. This diary shows how much that man suffered in the way of his love. This book is one of my most valuable possessions. Yui, I know that I can trust you and entrust this book to you. Take good care of it and remember that every legend can represent a story in the future.
With trembling hands, Yui took the book from Peter and glanced at it. Seeing the old cover and the pages smelling of dried roses, her eyes sparkled. Yui, who until now thought that the story of bloody roses was just a myth, finds it hard to believe that there was a man who suffered so much in the way of his love.
Yui delicately and slowly put the book in her bag. As if she wanted to protect a valuable treasure, she did it very carefully so that the book would not be damaged. She looked at Peter with a soft smile to thank him.
Yui: Peter-san, thank you for trusting me and letting me read this book. I promise you that I will take care of it with all my heart.
Peter gave a big smile and put his hand on Yui's head and patted her with all his might, making Yui's hair completely messed up.
Peter: Hahaha... I'm sure you'll take care of that book. And I promise you that I will bring you a lot of new books by next week.
Yui: Thank you, Peter-san.
Yui thanked Peter and left the library, and after walking a few steps away from the library, she waved goodbye to Peter. Peter could see the smile on Yui's face. He was sure that Yui was very excited to read this new book.
Yui decided to read a few pages of this book before going into the forest. She couldn't control herself but she was very excited to read this book. That's why she went to the center of the village. Where there is a big fountain and Yui sometimes sits by that fountain to read a book. This fountain and the apple tree are Yui's favorite places to read a book.
Yui sat by the fountain and took out the book from her leather bag, opened it and started reading. She could feel the scent of roses in the pages, tickling her nose. Without pausing, Yui opened the first page and started reading.
People may call me crazy.
But the feeling in my heart was not a lie.
If I had wings like birds, I would fly with you.
To go to a place far away from here where we can be free together.
Yui hadn't read a few more lines but she felt tears welling up in her eyes. It was very strange. Yui didn't even know that man, but she could feel the pain hidden in these words. As if she knew the great sadness that the man had hidden in his heart for years.
If they called me crazy, it was because of you.
Because I was crazy about the beauty and purity of your heart.
If I could wish, my only wish would be you.
I wished for the world to be with you and see your smile.
But my wish had a heavy price that this world would not give me.
Even if I am crazy, I will make this world for you.
A world where you can smile and live happily.
???: Hey crazy girl, what you are doing?
Yui, who was engrossed in reading, did not notice when the village girls approached her. Whenever Yui saw them, her heart beat faster and her hands and feet trembled. She was always afraid of these girls because they were never nice to her.
Seeing that the girls were approaching her, Yui quickly put the book in her bag and stood up. She shook off the dirt on her skirt and decided to ignore those girls as usual and walk away from them.
She had not gone a few steps when she felt her hair being pulled by someone and she fell to the ground and her bag fell from her hand. The girls pulled Yui's ponytail, causing her to fall to the ground, and started laughing and teasing her.
Nina: Clumsy girl... you are so stupid.
Tina: Fufu... Yes, you are really stupid. With this situation you have, I am sure that no man will fall in love with you and you will never be able to get married. Of course, this is better for you and you deserve to be alone for the rest of your life.
Nina: But I think someone is willing to marry you.
Tina: Who will marry her?
Nina: Maybe her books are ready to marry her... hahahahaha.....
Saying this, Yui blushed and had tears in her eyes. This was not the first time that the village girls made fun of her for being different and simple and shy. But this time they went too far.
The girls, who were laughing at Yui, noticed that Yui's bag fell on the floor and an old book was taken out. Without any hesitation, they all passed over that book and soiled it under their shoes. And with cruel grins on their faces, they left Yui alone.
As the girls left, Yui stood up and shook the dirt off her skirt. She went to her bag and took the book that got dirty under the shoes of the village girls. She was holding the book with her delicate and trembling hands, and while tears were gathering in her eyes and slowly flowing down her red cheek, she cleaned the book with the corner of her clothes and put it back in her bag.
Although she was not feeling well at all, she went to the forest to collect firewood with a trembling body and dirt clothes. Maybe at least this will make her free from thinking about the cruel words of those girls.
Yui went to the forest to collect firewood with a great sadness in her chest and her hands shaking from anger and sadness.
#diabolik lovers#dialovers#yui komori#komori yui#subaru sakamaki#sakamaki subaru#subaru x yui#yui x subaru#subayui#bloody roses novel#bloody roses prologue
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⚠️ Bloody Roses Novel spoilers ⚠️
Subaru: Do you like roses?
Yui: Yes. It makes Me feel nostalgic. The feeling that a familiar person calls me and walks towards me.
Subaru: Who is that?
Yui: I... I... I don't know. I don't remember at all.
Subaru: Could it be the person you loved?
Yui: If that person is Shu-san, yes. I love him from the bottom of my heart.
Subaru: (That was me, Yui. I was the person who gave you white roses. Please remember. Don't forget me. Please remember me.) Yui, if you are happy with Shu, I wish you the best.
😭😭😭😭😭🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧
This is gonna be the saddest story of mine.
#diabolik lovers#yui komori#subaru sakamaki#shu sakamaki#bloody roses novel#coming soon#admin talks#admin afra#shuyui#subayui
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I imagine that whatever Ridcully's experience in Bloody Stupid Johnson's bathroom was like, it was probably very analogous to what Mater goes through in Japan in Cars 2.
#munstrum ridcully#cars 2#bloody stupid johnson#hogfather#discworld#death novels#gnu terry pratchett#rose reads#rose rambles
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Loving them is like...
Loving Cass is fun. Loving Cass is two am runs for fast food. Loving Cass is jumping into a lake. Loving Cass is wrestling with a friend. Loving Cass is kisses sticky with sugar. Loving Cass is summer. Loving Cass is blood dripping down your sink. Loving Cass is holding him back from fights. Loving Cass is coming second to the training ring. Loving Cass is lukewarm water
Loving Az is cold. Loving az is snowball fights. Loving az is motorcycle rides at night. Loving az is blue light through your curtains in the middle of the Night. Loving az is sex without morals. Loving az is bloody knuckles with hidden secrets. Loving az is the blood on his blade. Loving az is a glass of whiskey on a tired night.
Loving Rhys is exhilarating. Loving Rhys is twists and turns. Loving Rhys is a bouquet of roses. Loving Rhys is finding the darkness blinking back. Loving Rhys is hating yourself, just a little. Loving Rhys is obsidian in your palm, beautiful but sharp enough to cut to the bone. Loving Rhys is the snow under your heels in the city. Loving Rhys is crying, the moon your only witness.
Loving Mor is beautiful. Loving mor is secrets whispered under summer stars. Loving mor is red lipstick on your collar. Loving Mor is the sound of moans mixed with soft music. Loving Mor is finding out that twisted words are not lies. Loving mor is crying in the bathroom, clutching the last bottle of perfume. Loving mor is the first kiss in a romance novel.
Loving Amren is grey. Loving Amren is stormclouds on the horizon. So beautiful, but so ominous. Loving Amren is careful smiles over red wine. Loving Amren is kisses coated in blood. Loving Amren is pearls against a pale throat. Loving Amren is the thrill after a gun goes off. Loving Amren is never quite enough.
Loving Feyre is relaxing. Loving Feyre is not wanting to get out of Bed on a Sunday morning. Loving Feyre is painting together on your porch. Loving Feyre is never having control. Loving Feyre is holding hands with a cloud.
Loving Nesta is intense. Loving Nesta is Sharp black. Loving Nesta is the feeling of riding in a car going so fast you aren't sure it's moving. Loving Nesta is long hair and sharp tongues. Loving Nesta is reaching for something that will self destruct again and again and again. Loving Nesta is crisp nights on the cusp of Autumn and Winter.
Loving Elain is spiraling. Loving Elain is looking over a cliff and falling into the river. Loving Elain is flower gardens that turn out to be Graves. Loving Elain is Burgundy. Loving Elain is calling to the forest, hearing a disembodied voice respond. Loving Elain is knowing you only have a few years to love. Loving Elain is like reaching into wool to find wolf teeth.
Loving Lucien is adventure. Loving Lucien is world maps and suitcases. Loving Lucien is knowing multiple languages. Loving Lucien is warm summer afternoons. Loving Lucien is lovemaking in a field. Loving Lucien is loud laughs over whiskey. Loving Lucien is watching from afar. Loving Lucien is basking in the sun's light, dreading when it shifts.
Loving Tarquin is gentle. Loving Tarquin is the gentle waves lapping on your ankles. Loving Tarquin is watching a bird fly away. Loving Tarquin is kisses under boardwalks. Loving Tarquin is loving the gentle sea, refusing to think of its violent nature. Loving Tarquin is not realizing you are drowning until your lungs begin to hurt
Loving Eris is rough. Loving Eris is getting too close to the fire, but relishing in your burn. Loving Eris is gold on red. Loving Eris is wicked smiles and dry mouths. Loving Eris is fucking in an old Cathedral. Loving Eris is bloodred lipstick smeared over collars. Loving Eris is never going home. Loving Eris is a hard wall to fall back on. Loving Eris is power being hand fed to you.
Loving Jurian is impulsive. Loving Jurian is jumping over walls and climbing trees. Loving Jurian is blades pressed against throats, laughter nicking the skin. Loving Jurian is armor so heavy you almost can't feel eyes burning into you. Loving Jurian is being so good at acting, because neither of you can tell when the other is genuine. Loving Jurian is something you tell yourself is a dream.
#acotar#unedited#headcanons#acotar headcanons#acotar x reader#cassian acotar#nesta archeron#eris vanserra#tarquin acotar#Azriel cotar#rhys acotar#acotar bat boys#acotar mor#feyre archeron#elain archeron
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Sorry if you’ve already answered this, I’m having trouble finding different posts in your blog.
I know a lot of your asks are more practical-related, but how do you suggest fully encapsulating the horror and tragedy of war in a (fantasy) battle scene? I really need that emotional and gory impact but it also to seem reasonably realistic.
My favourite references are Battle of the Bastards in GoT and scenes from Lord of the Rings.
Thanks!!
Martin and Tolkien are not two authors I’d ever expect to find together when discussing thematic and abstract concepts like the horrors of war in their writing. One of them is extremely deep, and the other is a puddle. Neither of them are particularly “realistic” but only one of them claims that pretense while drawing from real history. If you’re wanting horrors of war, you’re much better off moving away from Martin and taking a gander at the actual War of the Roses.
Let me explain.
Tolkien served as an officer during World War I. By sheer body count, The Great War was one of the most bloody and brutal wars in human history. As a point of reference, over a million soldiers died during the Battle of Somme. Perhaps as importantly, World War I killed the cultural concept of the Summer War. Before World War I, the British upper class viewed war as a game. War was an adventure, something young men did between reaching manhood and getting married. Watson from Sherlock Holmes is an excellent example of the end result for this particular outlook. They figured they’d go off, have some jolly good fun, get a few scars, and be back in a few weeks in time for tea. What they got was a meat grinder. Two of Tolkien’s close friends died during the war. He also lived through the bombings during World War II while working as a professor at Oxford, he experienced the devastating effects that war had on the civilian population first hand, and, likely, saw a few of his students die. Despite his hatred of allegory, the man was working through some shit in The Lord of the Rings.
If you’re interested in learning more about World War I or even about effectively demonstrating the horrors of war, I do recommend reading All Quiet on the Western Front. I read it once in high school (more years ago than I’d like to admit here) and, much like Elie Wiesel, it has stuck with me. It was also such an effective anti-war novel the Nazis banned it and it was one of the first books they publicly burnt, so you know it’s good.
Back to Tolkien.
What they don’t tell you about fantasy is that it’s real life, just with elves and dwarves and magic. The real world forms the foundation of fantasy and it’s the humanity of the emotional experience in war, the good and the bad, with both ends cranked all the way to eleven that really makes Tolkien’s work so impactful. LOTR is operatic by design, but what keeps the narrative from falling into melodrama is the core thematic message underneath the pageantry. One of the major themes is hope, which gets symbolized in light, and hope’s interplay with despair, symbolized in darkness. Not just a rosy view of it either, but the genuine struggle to keep the light burning against all the overwhelming reasons to give up or give in. Tolkien allows his characters to be corrupted and redeemed, their struggle with temptation before ultimately choosing the better path or failing and falling into darkness. He commits to the idea that hope can be restored in the unlikeliest of places.
Boromir’s death is, perhaps, one of the best examples of Tolkien’s philosophy in action. Boromir is a character we’re not sure of, he wants the one ring from the outset, he’s the only one advocating that it shouldn’t be destroyed. The hearts of men are easily corrupted. When he tries to take the ring from Frodo, he falls into his worst instincts and breaks the Fellowship. But then, against the overwhelming flood of Uruk-hai, Boromir tries to save Merry and Pippin. He fights wounded, shot again, and again, until he’s felled by twenty arrows and he fails. Yet, in his failure he restores Aragorn’s hope in his people, gives him a reason to fight for Gondor, and inspires the audience to believe in Man’s potential for greatness.
Tolkien could have left Boromir in the dark, but he didn’t. He could’ve given into cynicism, but he didn’t. In every adaptation, Boromir’s death never fails to get me bawling. Boromir is both good and bad, both dark and light, his best and worst instincts are driven by the same underlying, sympathetic reason—his desire to save his people and fulfill his duty to his father.
On the whole, I find Tolkien’s presentation of the human condition and war to be more compelling and realistic than Martin’s. Tolkien’s underlying themes have more in common with All Quiet on the Western Front, Saving Private Ryan, and HBO’s Band of Brothers. For all that his characters often feel larger than life (by design, he’s telling an epic) there’s always a grounding quality that allows the audience to connect with them. Whether we agree with Tolkien’s core thematic message or not, Tolkien genuinely has something to say about warfare and its effect, both on personal and world changing levels, and he communicates that message very well.
The irony about the “horrors of war” isn’t about the horrors of war. Thematically, the “horrors of war” is about who we choose to become in the face of them when trapped in the crucible. Do we rise to our best selves? Do we fall to our worst? When every illusion about who we believe we are is stripped away, what’s left? It’s an existential question, not a “realistic” one.
You can’t write about the horrors of war in fiction if you have nothing to say about war, humanity, and its effects. All you’ll end up with is gore for shock value. The world becomes hopelessly depressing, and, in the end, all the blood turns brown before it’s finally shat out.
Hi, Martin.
Don’t get me wrong, Martin is a very skilled writer. His prose is genuinely beautiful and his first book in ASOF, A Game of Thrones is actually a pretty decent deconstruction in the traditional fantasy narrative and a fairly realistic treatment of how events would go for the standard well-meaning fantasy protagonist. And that’s… the deepest we get.
Martin comes out of the 24/Joss Whedon death for shock value school of writing and the land of Iron Age comics that doesn’t have anything to really say beyond, “people suck.” Underneath it all is a level of cynicism in the human condition that would make Garth Ennis blush. The deaths are just shock value. There’s nothing more to it than that. Once you’ve acclimated to the gore, there’s nowhere else to go and nothing else to think about. Ironically, out of his contemporaries, Robert Jordan is better at giving both war and death in his narrative lasting effect, driving character growth, and real meaning.
Martin and Tolkien are opposite ends of the spectrum in their approach to war and their outlooks are utterly incompatible. One of them is a complete cynic and the other is facing himself honestly, openly, fearlessly, and without a smidgen of irony. (The true irony here is that the latter is the Englishman.) Following Martin’s blueprint won’t bring you to a Tolkien outcome. Tolkien’s genuine emotion is the subject of mockery in Martin’s world. Season 8 may’ve been clumsy and infuriating, but it was the natural end of Comic Book Iron Age cynicism. There are no good people, people with power can never be trusted, and all heroes, no matter how noble, reveal their true colors as villains in the end. As Christopher Nolan said, “You either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain.” This philosophical outlook may be sold as realistic but it’s really just Political Both Sidesism, Fantasy Edition.
The irony is that the real history Martin draws from, The War of the Roses, is simultaneously crueler, kinder, more noble, more horrific, more impactful, and ultimately more hopeful than Martin’s own work. And this was post the Hundred Years War and all the wars that preceded it.
I bring you, the Duality of Man.
If you want to write a realistic battle scene, start with real war. If you want to write about the horrors of war, start with real war. Pick a war, any war, and dig in. Reading the experiences of others is a way to gain insight into experiences you yourself don’t share and start to process the different philosophies born out of those experiences. The horror of war is a human one.
The most important lesson is that you won’t get there by focusing on the battle itself. To truly feel the impact, every character needs to be carefully built from the very beginning with a through line to every horrific event that happens to them. If you want to learn how to do that, then you need to go study every single war movie from good to bad (including the jingoistic rah-rah ones) like Apocalypse Now, Saving Private Ryan, Battle for Iwo Jima, etc, to really start internalizing the underlying storytelling structure and character design formula that makes those films tick. There’s no one better at portraying the horror and humanity of war than the war film industry. Part of what makes the best of these films really good is their willingness to allow their characters to be emotional and vulnerable. Which you won’t find in a lot of fantasy novels that run on machismo, but is the secret sauce that gives Tolkien his impact.
Having the confidence to allow your characters to struggle, be vulnerable, experience humiliating circumstances, and appear weak is an aspect of writing that a lot of men and women struggle with. Cynicism is a form of self-protection to keep those emotions away, to keep one from being emotionally invested, and is a means by which we protect ourselves from being hurt. We may portray cynicism as the more realistic reality but it’s just a cloak we hide behind. Martin’s approach to warfare is less realistic than Tolkien’s. Tolkien’s characters approach warfare with an eye toward protecting their civilians, safeguarding their future, or, in the case of his villains, focus on genocide. War for Tolkien is the eradication of civilization and the destruction of the future. Characters from experienced combatants to innocent civilians are willing to risk their lives for a world and for the people who matter to them. Martin has the Summer War. It’s there in the title, A Game of Thrones. An entertaining charade of musical chairs. And while all of his characters are chasing power, almost none of them have any sort of vision or goal for the future beyond the accumulation of more. In Martin’s world, the only way to truly win is not to play, but in the real world playing is the only way to create the world you want. Cynicism ends with no seats at the table and no means to change or save anything.
It’s funny because England during the War of the Roses had been in a state of near constant warfare for hundreds of years with their own domestic powers and France prior to the War of the Roses kicking off. The concept of a Summer War didn’t really exist for the medieval nobility. Much as we joke today about war being a game for medieval nobles due to their ransom protections, it really wasn’t. The peasantry was also much, much more dangerous en masse than they are in ASOF. They drove traveling monarchs to hide in monasteries plenty of times and, while that’s funny, it’s not actually a joke.
Now, picture Joffrey dragged off his horse in the middle of a riot and having his skull crushed by a local fishwife right before being trampled into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp by sharp hooves.
Or enjoying the Agincourt bathing route.
You’re welcome.
-Michi
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Hi I was wondering if you could possible do one where Theo and Enzo have begged the reader all week to help them study for their owls but she has refused saying it’s their fault for not taking their classes seriously, so they sneak in her room looking for her notes and instead find a box with dirty romance novels and her toys?
You can choose how the ending goes, smut or no smut whatever your comfortable with, thank you ❤️
thanks for the request lovie! (sorry it took so long) 18 + MDNI
The two Slytherin boys were doing their best at what they considered whispering as Theo quietly mumbled the spells to unlock your door. "I swear to Godric, Theo, if she catches us I'm hanging your arse off the astronomy tower." Enzo was grumbling through his teeth as he peeked his head into your room, glancing around and making sure the room was as empty as Theo guaranteed him it would be.
"Don't be a pussy, Berkshire. Just find the notes so we can duplicate them and get out of here." Theo walked toward your desk, starting to shuffle through the parchments on top. He pointed Enzo toward your bookshelf, telling him to 'make himself useful and help him look'. Enzo grumbled, picking through your books and the different pages stuffed into random textbooks.
Theo moved on to the draws of your desk, essentially emptying the contents of each as Enzo moved around the room, trying to at least look like he's being helpful. Which is how he found himself lazily sitting on the edge of your bed and digging through the drawers of your nightstand. He found the top drawer very boring, but different vitamin and glamor potions, your sleep mask and most other miscellaneous items.
Opening the drawer underneath it had him pausing. In this drawer there was a box and a small stack of books whose covers looked a little...steamy. "Uh, Theo...you might want to come look at this." Enzo took the box from the drawer, setting it atop your bed before grabbing the stack of books and spreading them out. "What is it, Enz, did you find the notes?"
Theo walked over, eyes growing wide and a smirk growing on his face as he took in the books Enzo had laid out. Each cover had a different couple on them, and on each cover the male had his mouth on some part of the woman while her head was thrown back, mouth agape clearly in pleasure. Theo picked one of the books up, flipping open to a random page and started to read out loud.
"His hands ghosted down her sides, fingertips teasing her skin as goosebumps rose in their wake. 'You look so perfect like this, laid out and bare, just for me.' His hand dipped between her legs, a finger gliding through her heat and gathering the wetness that pooled there. Brining his finger to his mouth, he sucked it cleaned, moaning as he did so. 'Oh, darling, I'm going to devour you.'" Theo let out a school girl giggle, "Our little y/n/n is reading porn. What a dirty fucking bird, you think you wacks off to this stuff?"
Theo held the book up, finger still holding the place of the page he was just reading. Enzo scrunched his nose, "Do girls wack off?" Theo rolled his eyes, "I mean, whatever it is they do to get off on their own. What's in here, hmm?" Theo flicked the top of the box off and on to the bed. At this, both his and Enzo's mouth's fell open in slight shock.
Inside the box were your private things. Enzo grabbed hold of a silicone toy, it was about four inches, the end larger and rounder than near the handle, with an extra bit hanging from the top, "What the bloody hell do you think this does?" Theo couldn't help the smirk gracing his face. "Enzo, my boy, that," he pointed his finger at the object in Enzo's hand, "and those," he pointed towards the box that held a few more items, "are how she wacks off."
Enzo's eyes grew wide, looking from the object in his hand, to the others in the box. "You mean this goes," Enzo made a swooping motion with his hand, his eyebrows shooting up. "Yes, Enzie, that goes inside of me. And it vibrates too," you flicked your wand in the doorway, the object in Enzo's hand giving off a low hum, causing him to drop it immediately. Theo's mouth immediately began moving, trying to explain himself and his friend.
"Y/n/n, we're sorry we were just-, and then we found-, you see, it was an accident," Theo's face wore an uncomfortable smile that he was trying to pass off an innocence. You walked slowly further into the room, not breaking your gaze as you picked up your toy from the bed and placed it back inside the box. Both Enzo and Theo had yet to move, watching your movements meticulously, essentially awaiting some sort of hex for digging in to your personal belongings.
You gathered the remaining books on your bed, stacking them back in the drawer Enzo had taken them from. Turning round you faced Theo, quickly grabbing the book from his hand. You held it open, eyes scanning the page. You shut the book abruptly, both boys jumping slightly at the action. A devilish smirk adorned your face as nervously spread throughout the boys. "So, which page did you want to do?" Theo's eyes widen, glancing at Enzo then back to you, "W-what?"
Slowly, you began unbuttoning your blouse, "I said," you pulled your blouse off your shoulders, letting it slide down your arms, "which page...do you want to do." You slid your skirt down your legs, leaving you clad in just your bra and panties. Enzo's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "Oh don't be shy now boys, you were so curious just a moment ago."
Theo grabbed the book from your hands, flipping through the pages before stopping. He turned the book in his hands, pointing to a page. You leaned down, scanning it quickly before giving him a quick wink, "Cheeky." You climbed on to the bed, getting on to your knees as you faced them both. Slowly, you reached up behind you, unclasping your bra and letting it fall down your arms before tossing it to the floor.
Their eyes only grew wider. "Bloody fucking hell," Enzo's mouth felt completely dry while Theo's eyes never left your chest. You laid down on your back, sliding your panties down your legs. "Are you guys going to join me, or are you just going to watch? Personally, I'm fine with either." You let out a shaky breath as you dragged a hand down your chest, dipping it between your legs.
As you spread your legs wider, slowly dragging your finger through your wetness. You let out a gasp, being slightly more exaggerate than need be. In an instant both boys were ripping off their clothing, Theo nearly tripping trying to get out of his trousers. Enzo got to your first, his mouth leaving hot and sloppy kisses across your chest. You ran your hand along his abs, groaning at the feeling of the divets and muscles before wrapping your hand around his hardening cock, giving him a few strokes.
"Fucking hell, Angel," he mumbles against your chest, tongue swirling around your hard nipples and Theo settled between your legs. "Oh, dolcezza...such a pretty little cunt, hmm?" You glanced down at Theo just as he flattened his tongue, taking a long lick between your folds before delving his tongue into your hole. "Oh my fuck, Teddy," your hand shot to his head, fingers tangling in his soft brown locks.
Enzo's lips were on your neck, sucking the skin between his teeth and leaving harsh bruises. Hips breath was hot on your skin as he whispered in your ear, "Gonna have to stuff your mouth full, Angel. Don't wanna hear a name fall from your lips unless it's mine." You groaned, hips bucking as Theo sunk two fingers into you, his lips attaching themselves to your clit.
Enzo got on his knees, tapping your cheek with an open palm. Turning your head you opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue. Enzo tapped the tip of his cock against your tongue before sliding his dick into your mouth. You did your best to relax your throat, trying to fit as much of him in your mouth as possible. "Merlin, Angel, it's like your throat was made from my cock." You tore your hand from Theo's hair to wrap it around Enzo, pumping what wouldn't fit in your mouth.
Theo separated himself from your cunt with a lewd sucking sound, kissing the insides of your thighs before sitting up, giving himself a few good pumps. "Think you're ready for me, dolcezza? Want us to fill you up at both ends?" You gave a slight nod, the best you could with Enzo pumping his cock in and out of your mouth.
Theo braced himself with your thighs, squeezing the plump flesh and spreading your legs wide open. He pushed the tip of his cock through your folds, a low groan escaping his lips as he sank deeper and deeper into your cunt. "Fanculo a me," Theo threw his head back as a series of Italian curses left his throat. Each thrust of his hips caused a fire to stir in your belly, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot with a delicious rhythm.
Each thrust also had you jolting slightly, causing you to deepthroat Enzo's cock. "Fucking hell, mate, keep that pace on her and I'm gonna fill this pretty little mouth," Enzo brush a thumb along your bulging cheek as a moan rippled through your throat. The vibrations against him causing his fingers to tangle through your hair like a vice. "You close, Angel?" Enzo spoke in breathy moans. He was close if the twitch of his cock against your tongue was any indicator.
"Oh she's close, mate. Pussy's got a vice grip on my fucking cock, isn't that right, dolcezza?" Theo's thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles, the fire in your belly getting tighter and tighter. The best response you could give was a moan around Enzo. "Fuck, c'mon, Angel, let go for us, then we'll fill you up. You can do it, go 'head."
It was like his permission was all your body needed, the rubber band snapping as your orgasm rushed over you. Enzo pulled himself from your mouth as a loud and near pornagraphic moan left your lips as Theo buried himself to the hilt, sheathing himself inside you as he spilled himself deep within your walls. He continued his assault on your clit, letting you ride out your high as he did his own.
Enzo gave his cock a few pumps before covering your tits in his release, his breaths short and rapid as he held onto your bedpost for stability. "Fucking Salazar, I don't know how that happened, but it was amazing," Enzo had a boyish grin on his face and you couldn't help but giggle. With a flick of his wand Theo cleaned the three of you up before settling down, his head laying on your stomach.
Enzo settled behind you, you leaning against his chest while his arms were wrapped around your shoulders. You played lightly with Theo's hair as he finally spoke up, "If I had known this would happen, I would've snuck into your room and dug through your stuff months ago, dolcezza." You rolled your eyes, "Yeah, yeah. Next time though, you guys need to switch. I need to see what Berkshire's big mouth can do between my legs."
Both boys' heads snapped toward each other before glancing back to you, their question in perfect unison. "Next time?"
#this is not edited#sorry not sorry#its theirs grammar mistakes#deal with it#enzo berkshire x reader x theo nott#theo nott x reader x enzo berkshire#enzo berkshire smut#theo nott smut#enzo berkshire x reader#theo nott x reader#slytherin boys x reader#slytherin smut#nonny bo bonny
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Book update time! Back in January I published my first (non-graphic) novel, The Witch and the Rose (which you can buy here). I made it pretty clear that it was the first book in a series, and that more books would be coming.
And yeah, it's time to reveal that next book.
I'm excited to announce Bloody Damn Rite, the sequel to The Witch and the Rose and second book in the Mia Graves series, will come out June 11th on Kindle and paperback. Additionally, you can pre-order the Kindle eBook version of the book right now and it will be available on your devices immediately on June 11th.
So yeah! If you want some queer contemporary fantasy set in, of all places, an Indiana college town... I got two books for you.
There will be more.
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How do you get the ideas for your backgrounds?
mmm ideas.... sometimes i draw the background directly from a photo reference (the happy case) so there's not a lot for me to change and i can have a rather peaceful painting process
othertimes, the BG is tied to the subject/concept/scene I'm thinking of, so it only makes sense that i have that as the background
for example, for this fem skk art, i knew i wanted to have chuu kneeling in a crater after destroying a city so drawing that background was just a logical follow-up because i already had the entire idea in mind
Here, I wanted to have Akiangel sit on a building, watching over the city. The ominous sign with "the day of salvation" and crow came later after I found this picture on Pinterest, so they helped further develop the concept, but the main idea was there and so on
The third background option happens when my painting doesn't depict a certain irl scene or landscape, nor do i have any particular references i can use. In that situation, I first and foremost think about the general composition, the shapes, how they flow with each other, how I can tie them to my main theme and what sort of symbolism or little easter eggs i can throw in there just to keep it fresh and interesting for the viewer ( aka the person reading this aha ;;) :-* )
For this piece, i started with a big circle for the background, and then I started breaking it up in pleasing, cloud-like shapes and swirls that constantly keep your eye moving around the picture (i mean hopefully lol). The composition was inspired by a) Dazai's Mayoi card ofc, that trad Eastern illustration style with the circle and then branches of trees, and also .. kazuha's splash art ok i admit it bshsj
for this one, the roses came much, much later. Again, I added that sort of golden arcade to better frame the focal point or the main subject of the scene which was ofc her face and/or outfit. Then, since it still felt rather empty, awkward, and directionless, I tried finding a pleasing, spiral line that would compliment the already existing shapes and that would, again, move your eye all around the composition. I figured since her outfit already had those small roses stuffed in her belt, those curvy lines could become some bloody, spikey roses and boom! here are the theme and elements for you: blacks-roses-blood-deadly-sharp-gold etc. I then had her crush some of those roses in her right (ik it's the left hand shut up) hand to balance out the busier left side
and a last example, sometimes I draw multiple character poses in one piece and they sort of become my background. Yet I still have some blank spaces left so i gotta figure out a way to fill them out. Here, since the pose where he's all curled up was inspired by the TDIPUD light novel, i drew him as a "corpse" in a pool of blood, and contrasted it with some nice flowery-ish patterns and swirls that sort of come from within that bloody mess ( someone also mentioned it looks like a womb which I found very interesting as well ). The cats also helped fill out the space. On the left side, i added that swirly black sun that drips into three squares that gradually fill up with straight blackness and raindrops falling below inspired by the "a conviction that the sun will never rise again" line. I don't think I should go into detail with the symbolism cause it's pretty obvious and not that deep so i won't but yeah, and that's my BG all filled up!
I do this with most of my BGs, it's mostly just abstract shapes; I'm very fixated on making the overall composition look okay and for the piece to send a message ( most of the time ), so i don't think of backgrounds as a separate entity, they are part of an already existing idea, generally speaking.
This kinda turned into a composition discussion midway......... sorry about that....... To be completely honest with you, I have plenty of BG ideas, they kinda just spawn in my brain so i'm not exactly lacking in that department. Having to draw them and finding refs is the hard part for me
#long post#what's new#i genuinely enjoy talking about this so thanks for the question#i hope it helped?#bottom line is - direct refs - already existing ideas - abstract shapes and symbols that work well together#ask iztea#this is nothing new under the sun im aware it's just what i do
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Johnny Boy (part 5)
werewolf!Johnny x reader
part one is here
Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.
Johnny spent a fair amount of time with you and Emma for the next week, weaseling himself into your schedule with a kind of single-minded determination that must have gotten him far in the military.
By Friday, you were exhausted, irritated, overstimulated, and, disappointingly enough, horny. It turned out the lack of sex over the last year or two had turned your hormones into monsters that were very attracted to the nice smelling man that fixed your refrigerator and coaxed Emma to eat her greens. It didn’t seem to matter that it was Johnny of all people, or the fact that you still couldn’t look at him without anger sparking in your heart.
What was worse was that Johnny brought up finances on Thursday, mentioning something about helping with the bills. That had been like a shot of adrenaline, your blood pressure rising through the roof..
You had dropped the bowl you were washing into the sink, shattering it into a thousand pieces. “I don’t need your help, John,” you had snapped. “I haven’t for the last decade.”
Johnny left shortly after that, seeming to have traded in his old hot-headedness for the same soft, patient tone he uses with Emma. He had explained it well, saying he hadn’t had a house or a family to spend his savings on in the last six years, and he wanted to ease the load for both you and Emma’s sakes.
But it was the fact that he felt so comfortable to casually interject himself into your lives. What would happen if you became dependent on Johnny again and he died? Or decided that family life wasn’t for him?
Then both you and Emma would be crushed. You didn’t want your finances to be involved as well.
So you were angry with him, avoiding the polite texts he had sent and the phone call that you sent to voicemail. All you wanted was peace and a night out with Charlie, perhaps a bit of making out and/or hands-in-pants involved.
You hadn’t gone that far with Charlie yet. Both of you had been burned in the past and you were enjoying the slowness of it all.
Today, however, you were ready to be properly touched by a man. It had been too long.
Emma was spending the day with her grandparents by their request–they had picked her up an hour ago, your Mum seeming to sense you needed a nice, peaceful morning.
You did laundry. You cleaned the kitchen. You made yourself lunch and watched an entire episode of the Bachelor without interruption, then took a hot bath with rose petals and a vibrator.
It was lovely.
You were cheerful as you dressed and packed Emma’s overnight bag, planning on dropping it off at Tom’s place since your parents had her.
You turned the page in Jack’s novel before you left, smiling up at the paper maché whale.
It was a nice walk, the air brisk and the snow crisp under your boots. You went over the Emma list in your mind: snacks, her favorite books, her favorite stuffy, toothbrush, pj’s, a chilled and chopped steak in case Tom had forgotten to grab dinner, crayons, paper…
Before you knew it, you were popping the door open with your hip. You had already mentioned to Tom you were popping in so there shouldn’t be any unwelcome, undressed visitors.
Except there was.
A man in a black surgical mask stood in the dark of Tom’s hallway, huge, dark-eyed, and super fucking bloody intimidating.
You dropped the bag with a screech, thinking of burglars, murderers,oh-my-god-is-Tommy-murdered-like-that-woman-in-that-documentary-you-saw-once-
“Shut up!” Tommy said, frowning at you from the couch. “Fuck, lovie, he’s a friend from work.”
The man in the mask raised a hand in an awkward wave.
“Oh,” you said, your heart pounding in your ears. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You’re a right scary chap and my brother usually keeps female company.”
“You’re alright, love,” the masked man said, his voice like gravel. He picked up Emma’s backpack from the floor, offering it to you with a massive hand.
The mask was odd and the hoodie covering the rest of his face and hair was odder. But your brother had rather imaginative taste in friends and you had seen and met much worse.
“Thank you,” you said, smiling as your heart resumed its normal pace. “I’m his sister.”
The man hummed, as if amused. “I can tell.” He offered you a gloved palm. “M’name is Simon.”
You shook it firmly, giving him your name in return. “Sorry, if I had known if Tommy was having company I would’ve called before I came over.”
“He’s not company, he’s a guest,” Tommy said, rising to herd you into the kitchen. “He’s staying here for a bit with Johnny.”
That certainly had your spine straightening. You hadn’t thought Johnny would still be here, after all there were a dozen relatives that would all love to host their long lost war hero.
“He’s out for an errand, lovie, don’t look so tense.”
You relaxed a fraction, soothed by the thought that you won’t have to deal with Johnny in your hair before your date with Charlie.
“You’re a friend of John’s then?” You asked Simon, your tone just a mite cooler than it had been before.
Simon nodded, his dark gaze tinged with humor. “Don’t hold it against me, love.”
It took you a second to see that he was a wolf too. It was all in the way he moved, the languid way he blinked at his surroundings. “Easier said than done,” you teased, forcing yourself into the good mood you were in before. “In that case, Tom, do I need to reschedule? Emma isn’t much for strangers.”
Tom shrugged, unzipping Em’s pack.“Johnny isn’t much of a stranger now, and Simon is a good lad, he won’t mind her.”
Simon nodded again, sinking into the shadows as he took a seat at the kitchen table. “I’ve heard she’s a sweet girl.”
“The best,” you said, smiling.
“Jesus, lovie, did you pack enough?” Tom said dryly, pulling out the sliced steak. “I’ve never let the girl starve, not in the last six years.”
“You’re a busy man, I was just making sure in case you forgot,” you said. “By the way, she likes a glass of milk before bed now. And her favorite book is the one on top, the one with the rabbits, plus King Robert is the sheep she sleeps with-”
“Right. I’ve got this. I promise.”
You felt Simon’s eyes on you, judging, appraising. You were sure Johnny probably didn’t have the nicest things to say about you–most likely that you were an irritating little girl that followed him around for twenty years then proceeded to get pregnant and raise the child without him knowing,
“And Johnny will be here, so he’ll be able to spend some time with her,” Tom said, putting the steak in the fridge. “If that’s alright with you.”
“It sounds like it’s already been planned,” you said, trying your very best not to be hateful in front of guests.
Tom sighed. “If I were half as smart as you think I am with your theories of scheming and plotting, I’d be living in a much nicer neighborhood.”
You laughed. “No, you’d be in jail.”
“Touché. Simon, how do you feel about a classic steak and potatoes meal tonight? It’s Emma’s favorite, she’s our six year old codger.”
Simon made an agreeable noise, his nose now in some masculine-looking magazine with bears and car parts on the front. He was quite a large man, commanding such a presence.
Johnny was an unsuspecting kind of violent, always smiling and laughing until he wasn’t, until it was serious.
Simon was different. He felt older.
Oddly, you didn’t mind him around Emma. You’ve wanted to expose her around more adult wolves anyways, so she’ll learn her manners.
“You’re sure you’ll be alright?” You said, anxiety creeping in like it always did whenever you would be separated from Emma for longer than a few hours.
“We’ll all keep an eye on her, pet,” Simon said. “Between the three of us, I think she’ll be safe.”
You relaxed. “Right. Thank you, Simon.”
Tommy ushered you out of his house quickly after that, his phone blowing up with Johnny’s texts and calls. You saw his black truck pull up minutes later, but by then you were already through your door.
Emma and your parents stopped by for lunch, your mother chattering about how she had seen Johnny at the grocery store and how much he had grown. It was like the last six years had been erased in their minds, the times when Emma was ill and you were at your wit’s end, the pregnancy you had spent constantly sick and deeply depressed–all of it was gone.
Your mother was imagining a new life for her daughter, a life of being married to the man that gave you Emma and making a dozen more pups in a nicer house, with financial stability.
She didn’t know the whole story with Johnny–hardly anyone did. She assumed the two of you had been dating when you had conceived Emma, and you had never thought to tell her differently.
Johnny had never actually wanted you. He was just drunk and about to truly leave the only home he had ever known. And you were right there, tipsy and desperate for his attention. You had missed him like a lost limb when he started ignoring your letters and calls, and seeing him again had brought up all those feelings again.
But now, he was just setting a trap. He wanted to be in Emma’s life, and when her grandparents, uncle, and various other relatives were on his side…it made your life a lot harder.
Emma nuzzled into your side, sensing your turn in mood. “You smell sad,” she said, her mouth dusted with biscuit crumbs. “You always smell sad.”
Your mother heard her, and seemed to gain some perspective. “When I saw him, I was so angry. I just thought of all the things he had done to you…but then, when I came up to him, he was just so different. He’s a different man than he was all those years ago.”
And you were a different woman. It wasn’t revolutionary to change.
Emma followed you into your bathroom and watched as you began to primp, perched up on your counter as you brushed your teeth and curled your hair, patting makeup over the purple half-moons under your eyes.
Emma was quiet mostly, sensing the strange mood you were in. She played with your red lipstick and powder, smudging them around her lips. “Careful, it might stain,” you said. “And what will Tom say if you’ve got red all over your face?”
“Is Johnny going to be there?” Emma asked hopefully. “He’s fun.”
“Yes, he’s staying at Uncle Tom’s house.”
She nodded, smiling messily at herself in the mirror. “He smells just like me, Mum, and he looks like me too.”
“He’s your father, Em, of course he does.” You blinked hard in the mirror, trying not to cry.
“But Mum…” Emma looked at you, her face suddenly serious. “If you don’t like Johnny, I don’t like him either.”
You actually did cry then, bringing your daughter to your chest like you did when she was a baby. You could still remember the day that you first held her in your arms, and all of the heartbreak had seemed worth it. “God, Em, it’s not like I don’t like him,” you said, burying your face in her strawberry-shampoo scented hair. “It’s just…we’re adults, and adults have tricky feelings. I could never dislike Johnny, he gave you to me.”
“But you’re so sad when he’s here, we can smell it,” Emma said, sniffling.
“I’m always sad, Em, I cried every morning I dropped you off at school for months.”
That seemed to make her feel better. She snuffled, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Are you going to see the book man?” She asked.
You nodded. “We’re friends, we’re going to go have dinner, maybe see a movie.”
“Good,” she said, wiser than her years. “You never go out.”
She allowed you to wipe the makeup from her mouth without a fuss before your parents ushered her out the door, giving your cheek a slobbery kiss before waving goodbye.
The house was too quiet, so you turned on music, the old crooning stuff that Jack liked. Another half an hour and you were ready, wearing your second-nicest dress and your favorite red heels as you frantically dried your Chanel nail polish.
Charlie was usually early, but time ticked on well past the time he was supposed to be there. He’s never been late, not in the two years you had known him, not even to work.
You texted a few times, staring at the screen for a response. He lived in the city, so an accident was well possible–he wouldn’t just ditch you, would he?
Maybe he had forgotten. You did make the plans the week before…
Time ticked on. You gave him a call.
“Hello?”
Charlie sounded distracted and irritated. You cleared your throat, “Hey, Charlie, I was just calling to see if we’re still on tonight?”
Charlie made an apologetic noise. “Ah, shit, I forgot.”
“Oh,” you said, trying very hard not to sound hurt.
“Our team had a last minute thing at the bar and I completely forgot about our date, sweetie, I’m so sorry.”
“That’s-that’s alright,” you said, kicking off your heels.
“Would you like to join us? We’re at the corner bar where the boss had his divorce party.”
“No, no, that’s alright. I’m not really in the mood for a bar,” you said, undoing the clasps to your nice earrings. “Rain check, I suppose.”
“I really am sorry,” Charlie said, sounding it. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
“I can’t believe it either,” you said, then you hung up.
You stared at the phone, feeling miserable and very, very sorry for yourself. Of course, the first date in ages and you get tossed up for a group of sweaty, gross men.
You showered, to scrub the makeup and product out of your hair. You might have cried a bit, but that was between you and the water faucet.
#cod x reader#soap mactavish#cod mw3#john soap mactavish#call of duty mw3#soap x reader#johnny mactavish x reader
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here, have sum crack:
The next time she'll see Rose and Juleka, she'll gift then a basket of treats. Some of said treats will also have some beef cubes rather than bean paste as a form of payback. Because, good God, she shouldn't have listened to them the moment they said:
"It's a story about a reincarnated girl and her bully but it's really nice!"
Marinette blinked at the duo, who were holding up a set of novels. They've decided to have a spontaneous anime marathon after school and because of different reasons, Alya, Mylene and Ivan couldn't join them.
She read the title of the novels, 'I favor the Villainess' in pink lettering.
The two girlfriends insisted on watching the anime which was apparently complete and there hadn't been an akuma attack yet so she let herself get dragged into it. The story was interesting, very very interesting.
And Claire seemed very very familiar.
Perhaps she should have stopped Juleka and Rose when it was already past 10 pm and it was a school night. Maybe she could have gotten some bit of sleep before an akuma decided to annoy everyone in Paris by rampaging across the city at bloody 2 AM. Ladybug was irritated, moreso when Chat almost slammed into a building out of sleepiness. Thankfully, the Akuma wasn't much of a nuisance.
The lack of sleep, however, made up for it.
Maybe she should ask Master Fu if there's any way to recruit more Miraculous holders incase of Akumas in ungodly hours. They were still students after all, plus she doubts Hawkmoth doesn't work as well. Maybe she could ask Hawkmoth instead to create a schedule for all the Akumas. Negotiate and stuff.
Anyways, going to school sleep deprived, irritated and having an anime marathon the night before was brewing for disaster. Maybe her Ladybug luck can spare her for today.
"Well if it isn't my favorite person, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."
Nope. Tough luck.
Marinette groaned, her irritation rising as Chloé's haughty voice reached her ears. Truthfully, the blonde wasn't that annoying anymore ever since she decided to get the help she needed. She's actually been doing pretty well, if her small progress at being a better version of herself was to go by.
However, Marinette was sleep deprived, hangry, and also very much a bisexual disaster.
Chloé Bourgeois, former bully turned hesitant all- wait, bully? Bully, bully, bull- oh. Aha, bingo. Didn't Rae almost made Claire back off because she kept flirting with her?
"What's with that creepy smile on your face, Dupain-Cheng?!"
Marinette smiled, her remaining braincells evaporating as she looked up at the startled blonde, "You're so pretty."
"W-what?!"
Marinette shrugged, completely unaware of everything happening around her, "I mean, if you're going to call me by my full name you can have it. Chloé Dupain-Cheng, it suits you."
Everything was dead silent. Dead ass? A voice eerily similar to Rae Taylor in her head, asked.
Dead ass, Marinette replied.
She doesn't remember much after what happened but she does remember Chloé going red in the face, sputtering something that was too fast that could give Hawkmoth's receding hairline a run for its money and Alya asking her after Chloé practically ran from the conversation if she's finally lost it.
Okay, Alya, rude.
After some explanation from Alya, a two hour breakdown and panic attack, and a three hour talk with Tikki, she was already down in their bakery on a school night to prepare Chloé's favorite treats.
Was she purposely making herself sleep deprived again to actually give the treats? Maybe. Would they talk about it? Hopefully.
Is she excited? Well.
Raise Y/our hands was playing in the background and Rae Taylor seemed to be lifting her spirits. And maybe her chances of being a masochist as well.
#chloe bourgeois#marinette dupain cheng#chloenette#rae taylor#claire francois#i'm in love with the villainess#i favor the villainess#crack#short fic#i wrote this in under ten minutes#mention of juleka and rose#pre relationship?#i guess#have sum crack
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Choose Your Own Adventure-- March 2024
Hello and thank you all for choosing to read this yet again! I am pleased to keep doing something. I am working on reminding mysaelf that the point of this exercise is to have something, and it is done in the sorta-kinda structure of a CYOA novel because I need permission for it to be bad, and we're all just having fun. I keep going!
Challenges abound, in this life. They are capricious and quick as lighting, they are as slow and earned as dark patches of mold. But the challenge itself is not so much the measure of this life, as how it is met. Some houses can be built grasping to a cliff, or piled firmly into a bog, if the builder is daring and willing.
Lena Oxton was a daring and willing builder of her own life, and relished the challenge of an impossible feat. The corner of her mouth went up in appreciation of life’s little gifts of difficulty as she stood back for a moment and surveyed the house.
“Nothing to be done but get inside, right? Not burglary, as I’m not planning on taking nothing,’ She reassured the house, ‘it’s only so cold and wet, right? Just going to get warm, and put Fareeha and that Tenoh girl into separate corners. Act of charity, that is.”
She barely felt the rain, however heavy. The excitement of the game was too much, as her eyes flitted, hummingbird-like, over the little pots of nectar that were each possible entrance to the building.
There would be no getting into the large glass doors at the ground floor, not without breaking something, and Fareeha would take a more or less dim view of that, as might whatever posh person owned this house, or worse, the national trust. That would be what Fareeha called, an incident, and she did try to avoid incidents. Lena liked to avoid paperwork, so on that score they could agree.
But there was a trellis, running alongside those bright white columns, up to the flat roof topping that colonnade. Whether the roses were supporting the trellis or the other way around, it was hard to tell, however, and Lena suddenly found herself wondering if she should have had the whole pie set in front of her at the pub. And the mash. And the three ales.
Well, no, the three ales were necessary, because the Tenoh girl had sat in a bloody Wetherspoons and ordered chicken katsu, had picked the place because there was chicken katsu, despite Lena telling her chicken bloody katsu was a bit less than local to the area and there might be better ways of exorcising the homesickness she did not have, and then been bold enough to act surprised when it hadn’t been straight out of Tokyo. So another ale it was, for Lena Oxton, and Fareeha could look at her as crossways as she liked.
But the ales were had, and she needed to get into the window, so regrets and second thoughts would only be extra weight, and she dropped them to the damp grass. She took off her jacket and carefully set it under the small bit of roof over the doors. As if a bit more water damage could possibly make the jacket, with its crinkled edges, and stray threads, and a patch job with a dark stain around the edges of it, look any worse.
Lena gave a broad smile to no one and nothing in particular as she bent back into a deep stretch, her hands over her head. It would be easy, if the trellis held. That window up above was almost certainly not locked, so it was only a matter of careful wriggling. Nothing this old was built quite tight. It was one of the more charming bits of England, Lena thought, that the outside was always a bit in, if something had been there long enough. Like it had become part of the country itself, and couldn’t be properly separated.
She lifted onto the trellis, and began her climb, her fingerless gloves only protecting her slightly from the thorns of the rose that climbed alongside her. She gave a small, rare thanks for being built the way she was--her feet slipped easily into the holes of the trellis, and she began to pick speed.
Until the trellis seemed to realize that she was there, and its voice croaked, an old and blueblooded madam affronted by the gall of a dockworker’s granddaughter to presume she was welcome. Lena barely had a moment before the trellis slipped away from the rest of the house like an evening fur, but a moment was all she needed to jump to the edge of the roof and pull herself, inelegant and flat on her stomach, to the safety of the flat space.
She was soaking wet, but she still took a moment to roll on her back and laugh. There were warm clothes in the van, she’d change as soon as she got back. The window was all that she could have hoped for and more, rotting at the very edges of the painted wood. Lena took a tiny penknife out of her pocket and slipped it into the edge of the sill at the bottom, hoping it was stalwart enough for the job. The rain had swelled the old wood, and it stuck firmly. She leaned on it a little more heavily, but to no avail.
Lena rocked back on her heels and tried to think. She pushed up on the sill, strong as she could. She pressed and pressed, and then--a chuck of old wood came flying off the sill, onto the ground, but the window remained shut.
“Oh, come on!” Lena implored the house, and leaned against the window glass. “Please just let me in. It’s bloody freezing, and no one else is making use of you, and--I promise I’m very respectful. Trellis aside. Also the window frame. In general, I suppose.”
There was a strange ripple, that ran through Lena, a sort of deep thrumming that she felt rather than heard, and she stepped back from the window. Just to the left, a french window simply popped open. Just an inch. Barely enough to be seen. But Lena watched the house let her in.
As she walked toward the window, in the back of her mind, she could hear her father’s voice, from far away. She couldn’t hear what he was saying as she climbed inside.
__
Challenges abound, in this life.
Fareeha closed her eyes and took a breath. People often remarked that it must be so hard, being a military commander. Giving directives on the field. It was nothing to her. It is easy to give orders, when the only consideration is the wisdom of the order itself. When people follow instructions, it is easy to give them. The matter is closed.
Command is easy, and management is hard. Sitting in a van in the rain, attempting to mollify the feelings of an overly-sensitive potential donor while putting up with needling of little her friend, was taking Fareeha to the end of her tether. She should have offered to go on ahead, and left Lena with the problem. She was better with people. She understood how to be charming, more easily.
When she felt inclined to, which was sometimes the trouble with Lena. She did not feel thus inclined, on the subject of the Kaioh family representatives.
So it was on her, to make connections for Overwatch, and so Fareeha turned to Doc, who was still sitting quietly in the corner, foot thumping on the bottom of the van.
“Help me with something.”
Doc nodded. “Can’t hurt.”
Fareeha rolled her eyes, but flung open the van door and zipped her collar back up to its full height. Mina and Haruka were huddled under the umbrella, looking out at the dark fields, the possibility of a small town at the edge of them. The United Kingdom was so small, and yet they had managed to get so far from anything. It seemed to defy sense, but it had happened, and therefore it must be perfectly explicable. There were plenty of places such things could happen, even here.
She cleared her throat, and Haruka and Mina both turned to look at her.
“I--apologize. I am from Egypt, and, so, the cold and wet irritates me. I become difficult. So I have been told.”
The corner of Mina’s mouth raised, but she said nothing. Fareeha walked toward them, letting her eyes rest on the dark road, and the bright white of the cigarette butt lying atop it. She bent down and picked it up, looking first to it, and then to Haruka.
“You have forgotten your litter.” She swallowed. “ An easy mistake, of course. I will handle it.”
She pocketed the cigarette butt and let her eyes drift along the edge of the darkness. Standing in front of the two of them, their eyes on her, expectantly, she realized that while she had resolved to allow Haruka to help her with something, she had utterly failed to figure out what the thing she could help with might be.
Foolish. She was constantly chiding Lena over her impulsivity. She did whatever came to her mind first, and never thought a day, a month, a year past it. But at least her impulse came with it a certain quality of genius, while Fareeha had no gift for improvisation. She was a careful strategist.But here she was, barelling forward without the benefit of planning, and now the very people she needed to impress were staring at her with expectation as she stammered.
“I was--I wonder.” Fareeha turned toward them, “If, the van being broken, we should wait for Lena, or follow to the house with her. I was hoping, Haruka, that you could help me decide. Which is wiser. I have not done many country drives, in places like this. I was told you like to drive in the country, back home.”
It was smarter to stay, of course, even allowing for the fact that Lena was just as likely drinking a few pints and watching some football highlight reel right now. But Haruka would know the same, and could imagine herself an important part of the larger workings Overwatch.
Fareeha wrested the words from her own mouth like a bone from a starving dog.
“I need your help.”
Challenges abound, in this life.
What should Haruka say?
results! The spooky details will be posted down here as they are used in future chapters, so don't worry about not seeing them right now. I've got them!
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🥀 Bloody Roses 🥀
Once upon a time, the story of a lover who dipped a rose in his blood to prove his love was nothing more than a myth.
But this myth was seen in reality by the eyes of all people. A young prince who fell in love with a peasant girl and saw something in her heart that no one else could see. And to keep that heart alive, he sacrificed his blood to the rose. A rose that had many stories of the divine love of these two people.
A rose that made all other roses bloody. These roses bloomed for these two people in winter. to complete their love story. The love that people know as divine love.
And this was the beginning of the story of the divine love of the young prince and bloody roses in the heart of the beautiful girl.
Bloody Roses Story.....
Coming Soon...
#diabolik lovers#dialovers#yui komori#komori yui#subaru sakamaki#sakamaki subaru#subaru x yui#yui x subaru#subayui#bloody roses novel#bloody roses trailer
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Under silver moonlight
The cover for bloody roses novel. But background is different.
I spent 28 hours for this one. I proud of Yui's dress. First time drawing her outfit very good.
Bloody Roses novel coming soon....
#diabolik lovers#dialovers#yui komori#komori yui#subaru sakamaki#sakamaki subaru#subaru x yui#yui x subaru#subayui#diabolik lovers fanart#diabolik lovers fandom#artists on tumblr#my art
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Bloody Roses Aesthetic
A young prince who fell in love with a peasant girl and saw something in her heart that no one else could see.
• Novel by @afra-blueraz •
Happy release day!!!
~ A Gift Mood Board ~
Afra, you have no idea how much I loved doing this Aesthetic for you! As you know I love the Victorian style and everything romance. 😍
Your art cover is so beautiful! 💗
I’m excited to read your story of this cute ship.
I wish you the best always!! ✨
Love, Admin. 🌹
• Quote and Art Cover by Afra. •
(Afra gave me permission to use Subaru and Yui’s art for this Mood Board)
All other photos' source, Pinterest.
#a little gift mood board#for#afra blueraz#happy release day!!!! 💗#my friend's new novel#subaru & yui#victorian era#diabolik lovers fanfiction#ah I'm excited to read this today!! 💗#diabolik lovers#subaru sakamaki#yui komori#diaboys#diabolik lovers fandom#diabolik lovers moodboard#sakamaki brothers
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The Obsidianite Jewel
A fem!reader x Chevalier Michel Fanfiction
18 + !!! NSFW
Chapter 13 -> Chapters Masterlist
Words: a fuck ton
Warnings: nsfw, fingering, vaginal sex, handjob, overstim, kissing, nipple play
Summary: It all started when your fiancé, Prince Gilbert, brought you to the palace of Rhodolite. He hoped he would find the secrets of the princes. Instead, he lost your heart to the brutal beast. However, Gilbert is not going to let your heart wander away easily
A month had passed as you stayed in the fortress. Gilbert was still chained underground. You visited his dungeon every day at first, mixing his medicine with his food in secret. Despite his imprisonment, his sickness started to withdraw, although the bags under his eyes grew in volume. At some point, he asked you to stop visiting. He had his back turned on you from you when he begged you to leave him alone. You did not ask why. You did not have to. You both knew how each of you hurt the other.
After a month the negotiations for peace were seemingly going well. Jade retreated and Benitoite joined Rhodolite's side is shutting down the last of Obsidian's generals. Even so, the ebony empire was vast and far too unpredictable. Too many times in the past it had feigned defeat, only to come back stronger. You had seen nation after nation bend to their knees as they were engulfed by the empire's shadow. More importantly, your kingdom's safety depended on your marriage to the man currently in the dungeons, and your loyalty to the Obsidianite crown. If word got out that you were roaming freely in the Rhodolitian camp the rumours would not be far from the truth to start spreading about an alliance between you.
"Chevalier?", Nokto repeated your words, "I think he's already in his room"
"Oh I see", you said sorrowfully, "thank you"
You return to your room to meet your sorry bag. You had laid each one of the dresses given to you on the bed. A knight brought them to you the next day after you arrived at the fortress. They were simple but not plain, their cut clean to suit your figure but lacking any eye-drawing embellishments usually worn by royalty. You sat on the bed and run your hand over the blue fabric of the one closest to you. Blue, white and gold, those were the only colours the dresses had. It was such a subtle detail that could easily go over one's head and so it would not draw any attention. That genius idiot...
You smiled, your fingers crinkling the fabric of the beautiful dress. The one you wore paled in your eyes in comparison even though, although tattered from the fall in the river, it was adorned with jewels from all the kingdoms conquered by Obsidian. You let out a sigh. You had long decided to leave, yet kept postponing it in an effort to see Chevalier again. You had caught glimpses of him as he raced through the corridors, venturing out for scouting and coming back bloodied from top to bottom. But there was no delaying it any longer. You had to go back. Every day you weren't either publicly announced as a hostage or returned to Obsidian or your homeland as a runaway cast suspicion over your relation to the kingdom of roses. You had to leave. But you also had to see him again. At least one more time. It could have been the last.
You don't remember how you ended up in front of his bedroom's door but soon you were knocking three times on the wooden surface. There was no sound at first but as you were turning to leave you heard Chevalier's voice from inside saying "Just come in". You stood silent for a moment, contemplating what to do. Going inside would be out of the question in a normal situation; you could not risk raising questions about what was happening behind the closed door. But now? This was your last chance to see him. You looked around. There was no one. You hesitantly put your hand on the handle and opened the door.
Chevalier was sitting on his desk's chair, leaning back as he read his novel. He held the book in one hand and supported his head with the other, elbow on the desk. His sword was leaning sheathed next to him. A smell of soap and roses surrounded him, the stench of iron and blood nowhere to be found anymore.
The door quietly clicked behind you. He raised his head. He immediately put the book down the moment he met your eyes. "Princess y/n", he said formally.
"I...ah...I had to see you", you said. You tucked your hair behind your ear. You could not look him in the eyes, despite your brazen claim. You lowered your gaze. "I'm leaving", you stated, "I'm departing for Istidor come dawn"
"Why?", he stood. It was not long before his face twisted as he answered his own question.
"Yes", you replied to his thought, "I can't draw more attention. The emperor will punish my kingdom for it"
The silence was deafening. You knew in your heart you had to say it. You hated to admit how right Gilbert was but you knew you would be filled with regret if you left with it weighing on your heart. You did not expect anything to change. It was probable that you would never see Chevalier again. But still...
"I....", you stammered. You looked away again. "I love you", you finally spat, "I'm sorry, but...I love you. I know you don't feel the same way about me. But I can't help how I feel about you. And I....", at this point tears had begun streaming down your eyes, "Maybe you'll think less of me now that you know this, but..."
His shadow suddenly enveloped you. You had not taken notice of when he had moved to stand in front of you. He was so close. You looked up at his crystal blue eyes as they gazed upon your face. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb gently brushing over your skin again and again. He leaned in. His lips hesitated just an inch before they touched yours. You could feel his breath cascading upon your face. Your eyes had already fluttered closed, your heart too weak to pull you away.
And then he kissed you.
He smelled like roses and parchment and tasted like sweet tea. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers entwining between your locks. His other hand gently pulled you closer by the waist, barely touching your body. You cupped his cheek as you switched sides on your kiss. Your fingers caressed his cold skin.
His lips remained close as the kiss ended. "Why do this?", you asked against them, "I did not know you could be so cruel"
"Perhaps I could be", his husky voice was louder than ever. He touched his forehead to yours. "But not this time", he said.
You pulled away. You had to retain your logic. You could not be pulled into a place you could not return from. Chevalier's expression was as frozen as ever now that you were looking at him once again. He could not have meant it, could he? Chevalier was the most incredible person you knew. You knew he had a beautiful heart which he suppressed each day under the weight of his duty. He always acted with purpose; the only purpose he could have to say such a thing would be to weaken Istidor with a war with Obsidian, something that would probably not interest him in the slightest. But the alternative, of him having meant it, was even more improbable.
"What are you s..."
"What do you want?", he cut you off. His hand returned to your cheek as he held you, eyes locking.
"It does not matter what I want"
"If you want a new life you can return to Istidor", he said, "Perhaps you should want that. You would be the happiest"
You laughed. "I wouldn't, but I have no choice"
"Yes, you do", his voice was cold but now both of his hands held your face, "You do"
"Chevalier, you know I don't", you sighed, "The emperor..."
"Is in the dungeon of this fortress", Chevalier completed nonchalantly. You furrowed your brows. It did not take long for you to realise he meant Gilbert. Chevalier scoffed. "He did not tell you", he muttered, "Of course he didn't. He preferred to create a persona to keep you with him, the messiah."
"Gilbert is not-"
Chevalier let go of you. "I should not have told you", he said, "I have every reason to lie and therefore am not a reliable bearer of this news. But you can verify them once you reach your homeland". He passed you by and reached for the door. "Your future is finally yours", he said behind you. You heard the door open. "You should find someone who makes you truly happy before they try to marry you off again"
Maybe it was the fact that you could not see him anymore and relied solely on your ears, but you detected the slightest hinge in his voice when he said those words. An almost undetectable hesitation that was uncharacteristic of his nature. You turned towards him and pulled him so he would face you. It was the first time you saw him truly surprised; but there was something else, deeper, peaking under his expression now that you had caught him off guard. It was sorrow.
Your eyes widened. This time you pulled him in for a kiss. He reciprocated. It was much more intense than the first. His hands scrambled around your waist, needy enough to pull you close but too scared to do so with all their might. His kisses left your lips and moved towards your neck. You let out a sigh. Your back hit the door and the two of you were knocked back into reality. He looked away.
"You should go", he said coldly and walked back to his desk.
"You said the choice was mine"
"So you shouldn't waste it"
"I'm only going to ask you this once", you said, your anger evident in your tone, "How do you feel about me?"
"That much is clear"
"Do you love me?"
"Are you saying you can't tell as much?"
"Chevalier, do you love me? Yes or no?"
He rushed back to your side. His lips collided with yours in another fervent kiss. His hand pulled at your waist. Your arms wrapped around his neck. He continued kissing you again and again until he was out of breath. He touched his forehead to yours, his thumb pulling at your lower lip as he warmed it with his heaving breath. "You simpleton", he said, "You should know the answer to that already". His face was still lacking expression, yet his ice-blue eyes had caught fire, and so had his voice.
You stayed quiet for a moment, still processing what had transpired. "Then shut up and stop pushing me away", you said annoyed as tears spilt from your eyes. Chevalier raised his eyebrows in surprise. You could tell he had not planned for such a reaction.
You pulled him in once again. He pushed your bodies together against the door as he kissed you. You blindly searched the space behind you until your hand found the key and locked the door. Your other hand was still holding his white linen shirt, pulling him towards you so he would not escape even though he seemed to have no intention to. His lips were devouring every inch of skin they could find. You felt him slow down as he reached your cleavage. His hands were hesitantly hovering above the buttons of your dress. You reached behind your back and pushed his hands towards them. He played around with the first one until he was able to unhook it, then easily undid the rest. He untied the ribbons of your skirt and petticoat. You shook your dress until it pooled around your feet.
Your hands worked on his own shirt until you were able to pull it off of his shoulders. You traced his toned torso, the bandages of his wound still wrapped around it. You dropped your gaze and your head as your fingers traced the white gauze. His crooked finger hooked underneath your chin and raised your head once more. He kissed your lips, hands tracing your figure until they reached your waist. You gasped when he lifted you up, letting your legs wrap around his hips.
"Chevalier your wou-"
"I can do so much", he waved your concern away. He carried you to the bed. He let out a grunt of pain as he tried to place you softly upon the mattress, the weight pulling at the muscles he shouldn't move.
"Don't", you told him. You sat on your knees and cupped his cheeks before you kissed him. His breath relaxed, the warm air breaking on your skin. You broke the kiss and looked at the bandage. He placed his hand above yours as it passed over the wound. He moved them together towards his heart. You met his gaze. It was intense; determined. Without any words, he told you that the worst pain he had had to experience was in his heart when he was apart from you.
He slowly climbed on top of you, kissing and biting at your neck and collarbone. His fingers hooked under the fabric of your chemise and lifted it until he exposed your honey pot. He traced the lips with his digits as they grew wetter. You took a sharp inhale as his thumb pressed your bud. He raised his head. His eyes examined your face as his thumb drew circles over and over again. He leaned for a kiss when he plunged a finger inside your walls. He was slow, careful as he drank every sigh and moan he pulled out of you. You opened your legs further for him. He thrust another one of his thick fingers inside you. You broke from his kiss to let out a cry of pleasure. He stopped for a moment as he examined your face, quickly returning to his good work. He scraped your walls with the pad of his fingers and your neck with the edges of his teeth. You combed his golden hair, pulling on the strands as he picked up the speed of his thrusts.
You called his name in his ear. He leaned to your neck and planted a loving kiss. Your bodies danced together, the tears they had shed while apart were turning into a fiery passion. You did not know if you wanted to cry out of joy or out of the sheer pleasure his fingers were granting you. He pulled your corset right under your breasts to expose them and took one in his mouth. Your fingers curled. You could feel his smile as his tongue circled one of your nipples. You could feel a coil building up in your body, curling up like a spring underneath your belly. His hands were both at work between your legs, one thrusting and one circling your rosey bud. He suddenly switched breasts and the coil burst. You panted and trembled as you covered his fingers with your essence. He slowly pulled his hand away. His fingers lightly pressed on your oversensitive entrance. You shuddered at the feeling, hips both running away and moving towards him.
He brought his head to his bandaged stomach. "Dammit", he muttered. Before you could pose further questions, he sat next to you, back on the headboard, and pulled you between his legs. This position reminded you of something yet you could not name this thing even as you searched into the depths of your memory.
"Chevalier", you said before he covered your eyes with his palm. The darkness made the kisses on your neck even more intense. It made the way he cupped your breasts feel more direct. His breath was on your nape. And that was when it clicked: There were not a lot of romance stories that you read, but there was this one you knew all your female friends had read. You had jokingly mentioned it once in front of him, never expecting him to actually read it. Goodness, you hoped he would not after you contemplated further on the vulgarities contained in this particular book. But he did. And he knew. And though you had mentioned it mockingly, you did not believe there were many women who would not be turned on by the things in that book.
He nipped on your ear. "I wanted to tell you", you felt rather than heard his words, "You enjoy some pretty interesting books". His fingers held your entrance open. "But I would like to hear what you want coming from your lips", he lifted you and led you onto his length, "Personally, I would prefer to look at you while you're making that face"
You felt the kiss he planted on your shoulder as his length stretched you. He continued to kiss you repeatedly as you got used to him inside you. He helped you as you moved up and down. You called his name. You heard his grunts loud and clear with your heightened ears even though he tried to bury them in your neck. He started moving more ferociously, more passionately. Your back arched against him as you tried to keep your breath steady, with no success. Your head leaned back to lie on his shoulder. At some point, his hand slipped away and you were met face to face with the expression he hid from your behind your previously obstructed gaze. His heaving chest, his rose-coloured cheeks, his feverish forehead, his hungry gaze....his everlasting and ever-burning love. It was too late for him to hide again; he probably realised it. He caught your lips in his. One hand dived underneath your arm and cupped your cheek, keeping your lips locked with his as he thrust inside you. The other pinched and circled your bud. You moaned. His tongue was entwined with yours. Your legs wiggled at the weakness of your breath. You reached behind you and hooked your arm on his nape. You aided his fingers as they urged your release. Your cries of intense pleasure were nectar drunk by his thirsty lips.
He kissed your nose. He was panting. He was not hiding anymore. His hands held you close, begging you to stay, even if his lips would never ever express such a wish. He was not a man who would succumb to his desires, but that did not mean they were not there.
"Lay down", you said as you raised your hips. You cupped his cheeks as he fell onto the pillows on the side. Your lips kissed every inch of his handsome face. His hands held your waist, thumbs tracing the dimples of your hips. You kissed every patch of skin you could find between the bandages on his torso. He pulled you back up mid-climbing down. He combed your hair with his fingers. You wrapped yours around his length. Your thumb traced the head and he bit your lip. You moved your head up and down. He was still determined on kissing you, yet you could taste the sweet moans he himself now left, and the sway of his hips towards your hand. His hand wrapped around yours. At first, you thought he was going to stop you, but he merely urged you to continue faster.
He came, panting against your face, his warm essence shooting from his length. He cupped your cheek before moving his hand to your nape and pulling you into his embrace. His hands wrapped around you. He softly kissed your back. You pulled him close, your own arms diving underneath his. He held you as if you were the most precious treasure in the world. His thumb rubbed on your skin and you knew he was tracing the marks that he himself had left.
"I'm coming with you", you said against his chest, "To Rhodolite"
Chevalier tightened his embrace. "Good", he said.
#the obstacle is the way#chevalier michel#ikepri#ikepri x reader#ikepri smut#ikemen prince#ikemen prince x reader#ikemen prince smut#chevalier michel x reader#chevalier michel x you#chevalier michel smut
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Similarities of Murder On Orient Express / Calais Coach to Danganronpa Despair Time
So like. Hi. I’m Starri. And uh. I’m not very much of a theorist but a few days ago i began to read Agatha Christie’s Murder on Orient Express, also known as Murder in the Calais Coach in America. I’d been searching for a copy for a while until i finally found one from my local library.
For the record, I’ve only been able to read half of the book so far (i have to put it on hold to finish another book which i need to return soon (i can’t renew it as someone wants it)), so I’ll most likely make an updated post that elaborates more on it.
Murder on Orient Express has been mentioned a few times in the DRDT franchise, most notably being in Min’s execution as the last question (Who wrote Murder in the Calais Coach?). A page of it also appears in the Literature Girl Insane (fun fact ive been calling it nonsense literature girl the whole time smh i’m a fake vocaloid fan i’m sorry) MV.
In fact, Agatha Christie herself has been mentioned multiple times in the story. For example, in chapter one, Teruko mentions her (although her name is considerably censored)
This also reveals that Teruko reads mystery novels (slay!!) which I think is pretty neat lol
For the record, Strychnine isn’t used in Murder on Orient Express, but it’s used on one Agatha Christie’s earlier mystery novels, that being The Mysterious Affair At Styles. I actually haven’t read that yet though since I can’t find a copy myself.
She is also, of course mentioned in the Literature Girl Insane credits. Although the original vocaloid MV has mentioned a ton of Authors (eg. Dazai Osamu, Kaiji Motohiro) that do appear in the DRDT ver, Agatha Christie does not appear in the original vocaloid MV whatsoever, meaning that she has been added deliberately, along with Lewis Carroll (i haven’t read alice in wonderland because i’m a little dipshit sorry i can’t do anything with him) and possibly a few others.
To be honest I do think Agatha Christie herself is somewhat related to the plot, along with other books of hers that aren’t Orient Express.
But I digress. My main topic here is how Murder on Orient Express has similarities to DRDT. Even if I’ve only read half, there’s a few similarities I can find:
1. There are 16 passengers aboard the train
In the novel, there are multiple compartments, however, in the main one, there are 16 people. You know what else has 16 people?? The danganronpa series, mainly, which includes DRDT.
2. The victim has somewhat ulterior motives/secrets
The man who died is revealed to be a murderer, who has changed his name to avoid being identified. At the beginning of the story he asks Poirot/The protagonist to protect him from someone who has been targeting him, which Poirot declines.
How is this similar to DRDT? Well, firstly, Xander, like the victim, died mainly because of their own actions. Xander died attempting to kill Teruko, while the victim died because he was a scumbag that killed. It’s quite far fetched but. Yeah.
3. ‘Charles Cuevas Motive’ and the Handkerchief
The handkerchief from the novel has been embroidered with the letter H. However, H in russian is N. Do you see where I’m going?
In the story, the handkerchief is revealed to belong to a russian woman by the name Natalia because of this.
In DRDT, ‘Charles Cuevas Motive’ or C CU MO is misread as 3MOC until Rose tells everyone to turn the disc.
Both stories have a sort of misreading of possible evidence that end up being clarified after a while.
4. People fainting after seeing blood
In both stories, someone faints from seeing blood: Charles after seeing Teruko on the ground, and Mrs Hubbard (a character) after finding a bloodied knife in her purse (?). Mrs Hubbard says that, just like Charles, it’s due to her fear of blood.
This one I’m almost sure is somewhat referencing the novel.
The end (because i’m stupid and haven’t read the whole book)
Ultimately there’s probably more similarities that I’ve overlooked (there’s most likely something to do with the ‘woman in the scarlet kimono’ ) so I promise to update this soon. But for now. uh. toodles
If anything, i think the references to Orient Express only go as far to the end up Chapter one. I think chapter 2 might be centric to another Agatha Christie book (i have a few theories on which one but like. i’ve only read 6.) so yay i guess
also if someone has already done a theory on this certain topic i’m sorry jd dkdbdjbdks
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